England, France And Typhoon Haiyan.
Without Prejudice
Jac and Aunty Betty, yorks . 07.11.2013
Me in my bought beret
Beret again
Love this French floor lamp .
The 92 nd birthday party is over and we are resting in Paris. I choose not to go on the tour of the Seine, opting instead for a walking tour by myself. The tour I never had when my insane ex husband lost it at Paris airport and managed to get himself arrested. He, deported the next day, and I had to go with him. Quelle bummer.
So now I can walk everywhere, moving quickly, and the French are welcoming and not rude as expected. We are at the Mercure under the Eiffel Tower and the streets are cobbled and the Seine lies to the left. I buy postcards and my Aunt and Sister, Jackie want some too, so as they go off on their tour I return to the streets and buy and browse. Paris. Ahhhh.
I regard all the signs of Rues and am secretly thrilled that my tiny bit of Grammar School French makes it easier to converse and find my way around. I recall that small is petite, milk, lait, so can order my very English aunt some more milk. A lot of the staff speak excellent English but as always, not enough for Auntie so I translate.
The streets are pretty, lots of trees and sparkling lights, girls in scarves and boots are de rigeur. One girl in the lobby in thigh high leather boots and she admires herself in Selfies and shows what we would see as vanity but she has no bother with it. I admire her total self absorption. Her boyfriend arrives, a short bespectacled man and she strolls off like a high priced escort and I am not sure she isn't.
Stepping high in her seven league boots turned with cuff above, at the knee.
I stop and buy tacky Paris postcards and the tourist shops are full of souvenirs but the tee shirts are stylish and I am sorely tempted to buy one but imagine wearing it will make me look like a tourist
. I buy a model of the Eiffel Tower instead, a beret and more postcards. I stop and admire the dogs a man is walking, a lady calls to me, Madame, but when I reply in my broad strine, she glares at me and disappears.
Everything is in Euros and seems expensive, especially the food and my heart lifts when I see a Subway sandwich shop. A recognisable icon. I buy Pringles and an English Bounty but they don't taste the same and I lose my appetite for them. On the news Typhoon Haiyan is front and centre, a catastrophe of mammoth proportions.
The economist is the only magazine in English and I devour it from cover to cover. Reading with interest of Scotland's likely independence from the U.K., next year. Taking with it, it's land, it's soldiers, it's natural resources, shaking the U.K. And humiliating it. The Welsh nationals watching with interest and Northern Ireland.
I am proud to be born in Scotland but not so proud of the man at the birth certificates
office in Scotland who kept telling me a copy was costing me $30 and me telling him I wasn't bothered and paid double for priority, just so I could have it in my hot, sticky, little hand. He was so very Scottish and had no sense of humour at all. Grim.
It's armistice day and I admire the Prince of Edinburgh's ramrod straight gait at 90 odd as he marks the anniversary at Ypes. Belgium. My aunt not so blessed at 92 and requires a stick or wheelchair. Slowing her and us as we discover Paris. The Prince salutes the fallen and Haiyan has done enormous damage and I am sure he salutes the fallen there too.
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| Jackie and my Auntie Betty 92 years young. 09.11.2013 |
Auntie Betty opening all her presents
Under the Eiffel Tower at The Mercure Paris
The Eiffel Tower
Love this French floor lamp .
The 92 nd birthday party is over and we are resting in Paris. I choose not to go on the tour of the Seine, opting instead for a walking tour by myself. The tour I never had when my insane ex husband lost it at Paris airport and managed to get himself arrested. He, deported the next day, and I had to go with him. Quelle bummer.
So now I can walk everywhere, moving quickly, and the French are welcoming and not rude as expected. We are at the Mercure under the Eiffel Tower and the streets are cobbled and the Seine lies to the left. I buy postcards and my Aunt and Sister, Jackie want some too, so as they go off on their tour I return to the streets and buy and browse. Paris. Ahhhh.
I regard all the signs of Rues and am secretly thrilled that my tiny bit of Grammar School French makes it easier to converse and find my way around. I recall that small is petite, milk, lait, so can order my very English aunt some more milk. A lot of the staff speak excellent English but as always, not enough for Auntie so I translate.
The streets are pretty, lots of trees and sparkling lights, girls in scarves and boots are de rigeur. One girl in the lobby in thigh high leather boots and she admires herself in Selfies and shows what we would see as vanity but she has no bother with it. I admire her total self absorption. Her boyfriend arrives, a short bespectacled man and she strolls off like a high priced escort and I am not sure she isn't.
Stepping high in her seven league boots turned with cuff above, at the knee.
I stop and buy tacky Paris postcards and the tourist shops are full of souvenirs but the tee shirts are stylish and I am sorely tempted to buy one but imagine wearing it will make me look like a tourist
. I buy a model of the Eiffel Tower instead, a beret and more postcards. I stop and admire the dogs a man is walking, a lady calls to me, Madame, but when I reply in my broad strine, she glares at me and disappears.
Everything is in Euros and seems expensive, especially the food and my heart lifts when I see a Subway sandwich shop. A recognisable icon. I buy Pringles and an English Bounty but they don't taste the same and I lose my appetite for them. On the news Typhoon Haiyan is front and centre, a catastrophe of mammoth proportions.
The economist is the only magazine in English and I devour it from cover to cover. Reading with interest of Scotland's likely independence from the U.K., next year. Taking with it, it's land, it's soldiers, it's natural resources, shaking the U.K. And humiliating it. The Welsh nationals watching with interest and Northern Ireland.
I am proud to be born in Scotland but not so proud of the man at the birth certificates
office in Scotland who kept telling me a copy was costing me $30 and me telling him I wasn't bothered and paid double for priority, just so I could have it in my hot, sticky, little hand. He was so very Scottish and had no sense of humour at all. Grim.
It's armistice day and I admire the Prince of Edinburgh's ramrod straight gait at 90 odd as he marks the anniversary at Ypes. Belgium. My aunt not so blessed at 92 and requires a stick or wheelchair. Slowing her and us as we discover Paris. The Prince salutes the fallen and Haiyan has done enormous damage and I am sure he salutes the fallen there too.
